


jerks in love

by corpseparty (orphan_account)



Series: Embarrassing Kinkmeme Fills That I Am Going To De-Anon On Anyway [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Red Romance, Wet & Messy, Xeno, relationship study via porn, vague college AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/corpseparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave can't talk dirty without making a fool of himself; to no one's surprise, Karkat is a screamer; and in summary, Dave and Karkat are terrible people to room next to.</p><p>Written for the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jerks in love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this- believe it or not- as an exercise in "show, not tell."
> 
> Originally posted here: http://homesmut.livejournal.com/8284.html?thread=13484124#t13484124
> 
> This version has been edited in order to improve the quality of the writing, to reflect changes in headcanon, and to (hopefully) improve characterization.

Karkat straddles his lap, already dripping. Dave sees the spots of red on his cream-pale thighs, the out-of-focus smoke grey of Karkat’s leg, and thinks idly of photographing it. Then Karkat envelopes him, and thought vanishes in a blur of wet heat around his dick.

Dave’s teased Karkat by referring to his nook as red velvet cake, among other bizarre euphemisms. At the moment, he means it sincerely: Karkat is red and velvety-soft in there, a fucking luxury, better than chocolate, better than anything Dave’s had ever. He is also apparently made with the extra moist cake mix that has pudding in, because he’s incredibly wet from all that fingering earlier.

Karkat heaves a shuddering sigh into his shoulder, and Dave’s hips jackknife up into him, making him hiss. Somewhere it turns into words.

 _“Yesss._ Yeah, come on, Dave—”

Dave grabs Karkat’s ass to hold him in place and gives it to him as hard and fast as he can. In this position, that’s not very fast or hard, but that’s okay: Karkat is riding him, slamming down on him, meeting him halfway, biting the shit out of his neck in lust-addled affection.

“Strider,” he croons, “Dave, you moronic douche, oh god I— I—” The moan that wrenches up out of him is a true confession, ripped straight from the headlines, sure to be a bestseller and a shitty Lifetime movie in the bargain. He’s staring at Dave with his big, eyelinery headlight eyes, watching him so closely under sultry eyelids because Vantas is soppier and more romantic than half the girls Dave knows.

Dave kisses him, hard, and squeezes his round little ass hard enough to bruise, and Karkat purrs and starts bouncing even more enthusiastically on his dick. Of course, since Karkat’s basically better lubed than WD-40, Crisco and KY combined, that means that Dave slips right out.

Karkat growls like a put-out kitten and shoves Dave’s dick back into his nook. It’s clumsy, but Dave doesn’t mind. He wraps his arms around Karkat’s blazing-hot, skinny back and gasps, “Y’know, if you let me do the fucking, that wouldn’t happen.”

Karkat’s cheeks are dark and his mouth is open. He’s unfocused, chasing pleasure. “So fuck me, since you obviously know _everything_ about sex,” he mumbles.

Dave wraps his arms around Karkat and rolls them over, pinning him to the bed. His dick slips out again in the process, and Karkat whines.

“Greedy,” Dave says. “Vantas, you’re a cockslut.”

“Bulge,” says Karkat. “You mean bulgeslut, you humancentric ass.”

Dave laughs, and buries himself in Karkat in one slick thrust. The thrill of it pounds through him, and he wishes—not for the first time—that he had a freaky alien vagina too, so that it would always be this easy to watch Karkat fuck him, to hold him inside his body and watch him dazzled by pleasure.

“All right, you can be a bulgeslut,” he says, feeling Karkat’s own bulge against his stomach. “And you can call me pimp daddy D-Stride—”

Karkat snorts breathlessly and paws him in the face. “Shut up, you’re stupid and ridiculous—” His English is slipping, always a good sign. “Fuck you, pimp daddy douchebag,” he adds cheerfully.

“You are fuckin’ your pimp daddy,” Dave informs him in a honey-slow, unsteady drawl. “Actually he’s fuckin’ you, and he fuckin’ likes it, you’re so wet and tight and good—”

Karkat makes a face at him, but his hips grind up into Dave’s anyway. “Your dirty talk sucks musclebeast bulge,” he gasps, and whoa, that train of thought has to go away like, ten years ago. Major boner kill.

Dave reaches between them, wrist twisted painfully, and grabs Karkat's bulge. Karkat dissolves into a stream of fucks and Alternian. He thrashes, nearly knocking Dave off and dislodging his dick yet again—Jesus fuck, it’s like Karkat’s nook has an ejector seat, _why_ —so Dave lets go of his bulge and pins his wrists over his head.

“Karkat,” he growls (well, tries to growl; he wind up with something a lot closer to entreating.) “Look at me.”

Karkat does look, eyes unfocused, red irises like gems against gold sclera and huge black pupils, bony sour face perfect and open, and suddenly feelings tumble over Dave like an avalanche over some skiing asshole trying the black diamond slopes for the first time.

His sexy, dominant “stop squirming like a thing that thrashes a lot or you won’t get yours” speech evaporates, and he blurts out, “Karkat, I—”

"I what?" is not actually something he can answer, and he doesn’t want to say shit he doesn’t mean in bed because Karkat would believe him, and is there anything he can say that wouldn’t sound unforgivably lame—

“I want to cut you up into little bits and keep you forever,” comes boiling out of his mouth in this overheated whisper like an overacting porn starlet’s. Fuck, why did he say that? That was some severed-heads-in-the-freezer serial killer shit. But that’s okay, trolls like that, right?

Apparently so, because Karkat purrs like a creepy death threat from the guy fucking him is a dream come true. He opens his legs startlingly wide and lifts his hips off the bed, shamelessly flaunting.

Dave leans back to take a look at his nook and bulge. God, does he wish that he could get his cock and mouth and hands on him at the same time, on all that needy, slick, swollen goodness, get covered in red slick and wear it all over his body like war paint. He needs to be in him _right the fuck now._

When he slides back into Karkat, it’s all he can do not to come right away. Karkat nearly shrieks and squirms up into him, one needy curve of soft-strong warmth, arms jerking in Dave’s grip, and Dave pounds into him, snarling and swearing under his breath. He’s vicious with need, and Karkat is at his most masochistic, sobbing in pleasure as Dave tears at him, at his neck, at his lips, at his neck again, at his throat like he’s going to cut him open as Karkat wraps his legs around him and screams.

Dave is dimly aware that there is a banging noise that they aren’t responsible for coming from outside, but Karkat is screaming for him and the most important thing is to come in him right now, so that when he kneels over his bucket he’ll have to see Dave’s come mixed with his, and he’s going to fucking love it because he loves being dirty—or maybe he has some fantasy about pailing with Dave to make interspecies grubs, about Dave knocking him up, about—

Somebody groans, “Oh, fuck,” very loudly, and Dave finds that he’s lying bonelessly across Karkat.

Karkat. Who still needs to come, and is staring at him with something like horror. Dave flushes up to his ears.

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, peeling himself away. He kneels up between Karkat’s splayed legs. His sort-of boyfriend is still frozen.

“Are you okay?” asks Dave. “I feel like a giant piece of shit right now. It’s like someone collected every piece of shit in the municipality of—”

“Shut the fuck up,” barks Karkat suddenly. He hasn’t blinked yet. “Get down here and lick me, you abhorrent pus-ridden sack of pailscrapings, or I’m going to—” He lapses into jagged, raspy Alternian.

Dave buries his head between Karkat’s thighs. It’s a salty-tart slippery mess, hot under his tongue, pulse beating everywhere. He jerks Karkat’s bulge slowly with one hand and covers him with his mouth, tongue pushing into his nook, licking his own come out. He wants to be eating Karkat out when he comes.

It doesn’t take long. Karkat shivers and humps his face and mewls and suddenly there’s a veritable red sea washing up to Dave’s lips, rushing into his mouth, enough to choke him. The tight ring of muscle at the entrance of Karkat’s nook closes around Dave’s tongue, trying to keep the genetic material in. He licks at it, trying to get it to open.

He looks up, trying to meet Karkat’s eyes. Karkat has propped himself up on his elbows and is watching him. He must be able to read Dave’s mind, because he shudders and shoves his hips forward, letting it pour out onto Dave’s face. It’s hotter than the flush on his cheeks; it reeks of iron, like blood. Dave opens his mouth to lick some more up.

He sits up. His face, shoulders, chest, and bedsheets are all crimson. The smile Karkat gives him could get a nun pregnant with _septuplets,_ and Dave can feel himself blush.

He climbs shakily over Karkat, almost kneeing him in the stomach, and curls next to him, because Karkat is a horrible little beast who sulks if not properly cuddled.

After a few sticky, companionable minutes, Dave says, “You owe me a new set of sheets.”

“You could have gotten a bucket,” points out Karkat.

“You could have asked for a bucket,” counters Dave.

“Fuck you,” says Karkat sweetly, and kisses him on the lips. Dave squeezes him close, crushing him against his gross chest, overwhelmed with wordless tenderness.

This is the moment when John Egbert stumbles into Dave’s mysteriously unlocked room.

“Hi, Dave!” he says cheerfully. Then his face freezes and goes the approximate color of one of those lumpy heirloom tomatoes. _“—ghhrk—”_

Son of a bitch.

Dave would far rather have been caught red-handed than red-dicked, red-faced, red-torsoed, and freely displaying affection—after all, what’s a little fingering compared to post-coital intimacy? This is the most embarrassing moment of his life. Rooming next to Rose was the worst decision of his life. But he doesn’t regret Karkat at all.

Well, maybe just a little bit. Actually, maybe a fucking lot, because Egbert is pulling out a cell phone and grinning, that backstabbing bag of horse genitalia.

(That’s a lie, of course.)

**Author's Note:**

> About the troll anatomy used in this fic:
> 
> All trolls have the same sort of naughty bits, which consist of bone bulges and nooks. Bulges are like five- or six-inch clitorises. They’re composed of erectile tissue and you don't ejaculate through them. Nooks are similar in structure to vaginas and look quite similar from the outside. They can accommodate bone bulges or penises, and they’re also designed to hold genetic material until the troll can find a bucket or other safe place to put it. Above/connected to the nook is some sort of genetic material holder, like an internal testicle, which releases the material upon orgasm.
> 
> Also, there's some really wonderful (NSFW) fanart here, done by the OP of the kinkmeme prompt: http://postimage.org/image/vwk9dr8/


End file.
